


Not an Ugly Christmas Sweater Kinda Person

by Nadia_Hernandez



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Short & Sweet, Sweaters, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Ugly Holiday Sweaters, Ugly Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27925777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadia_Hernandez/pseuds/Nadia_Hernandez
Summary: Nicole Haught has never been an ugly Christmas sweater kinda person.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday
Kudos: 41





	Not an Ugly Christmas Sweater Kinda Person

**Author's Note:**

> I love Wayhaught and I love Wynonna and I love Doc's accent even if I have only ever heard it in real life on very elderly gay men and even more elderly ladies with blue hair. Adorable local hazard of where I live :D

Nicole Haught has never been an ugly Christmas sweater kinda person. She likes Christmas well enough, don't get her wrong. Any holiday that focused on brown sugar glazed ham, eggnog that slides down your throat like svelte curves through a red dress and putting Nedley in a fake beard is all right by her. She also loves sweatshirts, as a rule. They're an article of clothing thrown on without much thought--a utilitarian garment that she knows will serve her, in one of its various forms, through almost any kind of trial. She can slip into the big, ratty, comfortable sweatshirt with the University of Calgary logo on it that she's owned since her junior year of high school when she decided to go there and major in criminology, complete the ensemble with grey sweatpants just this side of disreputable and lounge around the homestead with Calamity Jane watching episodes of Barney Miller uploaded illegally onto Youtube all day.

Or, in the polar opposite of that situation, her black, tactical pullover was absolutely perfect for when the Purgatory Sheriff's Office had to do some down and dirty actual enforcement of the law. Meth lab run by revheads? It's black tac time, baby. Secret cult sacrificing virgins out in the woods so that they can unleash an eldrtich hell creature on the Ghost River Triangle? Same thing. Those poor kids deserve a medal, she figures, for holding out so long for whatever reason and she figures they can't get it if they've all been gutted by incels cosplaying as the followers of Mehrunes Dagon from Oblivion. Maybe a tough chick with a 9mm in her dark 5.11s, turtleneck and shades can even the odds a little.

Finally, or almost finally, there's the woolen sweater that says Eat, Sleep, Ski that Waverly got her for her birthday last year--the first full year that they were together. The chibi snowman on skis with his ice cream cone and pillow are a little cutesier than what she usually wears but for Waves it is devastatingly understated and, as Ygritte told Jon Snow, south is all in where you're standing. It's good to wear after a long day of orienteering when your muscles are so stiff with that good, bone deep tiredness that all you can do is stretch out in front of the fire and enjoy the hot chocolate with chili pepper made by your literal angel of a girlfriend. That's a little slice of heaven and the pun is very much intended.

Almost finally, she thinks, because there's another sweater but it's one she tries to forget. It's just an old Purgatory Sheriff athletic jumper in dark blue, a hand-me-down from Nedley, but if she can ever bring herself to retrieve it from the barn she's gonna hand it back up. There's nothing wrong with it, per se, and it served its purpose well and let her work in comfort but this is a story about ugly Christmas sweaters and she wore that one during a time when she thought there would never be a Christmas again. She remembers how it would catch on thorns--the damn thing is now more hole than it is cloth--while she ran through the woods like some feral goblin witch and made war on one of her most beloved friends. The depths of that loneliness grab at her even now and it seems like the beautiful woman in front of her, the one singing "Silent Night" in a low, clear voice and hanging baubles from the tree Doc harvested for them, is a dream. Was she ever real? Could someone like Waverly Earp even exist?"

A head laid heavily on her shoulder breaks the reverie. "Hey, Haught-pants... you good? You're lookin' kinda... broody."

"I'm fine, Wynonna... just... thinking."

"Thinking bout taking the angel off that tree, later, and putting it on yer face instead?" She frowns. The whiskey smell is enough to down a bison. For Doc and Wynonna any excuse for a party is enough. "We do put an angel on it, don't we? Not a star or, like, an Olaf or something? Cause if it's not an angel then my sex pun don't... work... good."

"It's an angel," Nicole says. "Just seemed appropriate."

"Damn straight. Or maybe not? I dunno." She belches. "Me and Doc are gonna go watch Freddy Got Fingered--I told him it was the greatest Christmas movie of all time."

"Didn't you convince also convince him that American Pie was a celebration of St. Honore's Day?"

"Hell yeah." She snickers and effortlessly mimics a lilting, musical accent from the Georgia upcountry that hasn't been common for almost a century. "'I do declare that man having his way with that pastry is a knee-slapper and a half!' Wanna come?"

Without even trying to wrap her head around the Wynonna shaped logic of that sentence Nicole shakes her head. "I don't think so. I'm just gonna watch Waverly decorate the tree for a while. Maybe hang a little misteltoe."

She pauses for a moment. Waverly has finished Silent Night and now softly croons Oh Holy Night--it is Nicole's all time favorite Christmas carol and she knows that her baby can hit the high note like a clear throated silver bell. Wynonna nods. "Based. Hang it about yea high--" She indicates her belt buckle "and you'll be a golden girl like Bea Arthur."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"I bet you will." Nicole doesn't have an answer for this non-innuendo turned frankly sexual by the tone of her voice so Wynonna saunters off to search for greener, more gloriously moustached pastures. True to her word Nicole just watches Waverly decorate and listens to her sing, not even breaking to refresh her cup of gingerbread hot chocolate. And she does, just as Nicole suspected she would, vault effortlessly over the high note with a heartbreaking clarity that you normally only find in cheesy, shitty specials on the Hallmark channel. She has a voice for the kind of movie where everyone wears a godawful, ugly Christmas sweater like the ones that Waverly loves and that Nicole is willing to wear for her. So it lights up and the little reindeer wiggles its butt while a midi file plays "Jingle Bell Rock," so what? She's never been an ugly sweater sort of person--those are a utilitarian garment, remember--and yeah, it's probably gonna short out and cook her in a horrible blaze one day but whatever... for an real life, honest God angel like her baby that's a risk that she's willing to take.


End file.
